


The poetry in broken glass

by jayphrodite



Category: Red Robin (Comics), Superboy (Comics), Young Justice (Comics)
Genre: Kon's a dummy <3 but he's poetic and romance books ruined him, M/M, tim is a literal deity in kon's eyes and you know it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-19 05:42:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29745855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jayphrodite/pseuds/jayphrodite
Summary: Now, Kon has to admit that he’s been to and seen places much better than Gotham. Metropolis for one, Central city, literally any other place has a happier vibe than Gotham, Kon knows this. But this makes Gotham stand out in more than one way.Tim is an everyday reminder of this. Before, Gotham seemed like the distant home of the relative you didn’t like. Kon went only when he had to, and every single moment he would long to be anywhere else.Then Kon became friends with Tim, and going to Gotham now felt like a road trip, to a friend you hadn’t seen in a while, even though Kon saw Tim nearly every single day. It was that sort of adrenaline and excitement.
Relationships: Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent
Comments: 6
Kudos: 66





	The poetry in broken glass

Kon is sure that it started with the library. The dusty library in the southside of Gotham. Everyone knew of it, they were all aware that it was there. But the place was abandoned, and it looked so peaceful. It wasn’t a very smart hideout for anything. It was a bit beyond the city limits, an unusual spot for a place that once had been open to the public, but everyone knew it belonged to Gotham. 

Then, it was a place filled with lights and books, it felt welcoming, even as time passed and the lights dimmed. The first time Kon had been there, he had written his name over the dust of a shelf, using his finger. Maybe someone would remember that. That was before the library had become such a usual place for them. 

He doesn’t know what brought it up. Why Tim had asked Kon to meet him there. At the library now with plants gone haywire, all around the gates and the rim of the windows. But Kon showed up that day, and he waited for Tim, because Tim was late. It was funny, because Gotham was closer to the place than Metropolis was. 

Tim hadn’t shown up yet, and Kon went through the books that remained in the library, mostly dictionaries and fictional novels. Kon wondered why these hadn’t been taken to the newest places, they were in a good overall state, if not covered in dust. 

The window that Tim had come through, the same one that Kon had flown in from, was large. It had a majestic look from the outside, and it would give Kon the vibe of an abandoned castle. With chipped paint that once must have been white, now looking like a cream tone with a sepia overline, and glass creaked in such a crafted manner, you’d think the vines crawling their way in were invited. 

Kon realized he could just have… flown out, gone looking for Tim. He could have even used his super-hearing, to try and place where he was at. But Tim must have had his own reason, for both being late and asking to meet here, of all the dark places in Gotham. Of all rooftops and alleys, Tim had chosen the empty library with vines adorning the windows. Besides, the library was much more interesting than scrolling through the streets of Gotham. 

To this day, Kon doesn’t know why Tim had asked him to meet there. 

It had become a small… tradition, per se. Tim and Kon would crawl their way into the library, then Kon would write his name, using his finger, right beside or below the previous version of it. Then they would take off their masks, capes, everything that seemed extra for such a nice place like that one. There was this spot they’d go to, in the second floor of such, even though the place itself seemed like it couldn’t hold any longer. It was a small room, an empty one, with a window that stretched through the longest wall of such, the same little vines by the broken window crawling their way in. Kon couldn’t explain it, but there, in that small room that seemed to now hold so many secrets, they were different. They weren’t Superboy and Robin, two young heroes whose only thing to have in common seemed to be each day one step closer to becoming everyone they don’t want to be. They weren’t Tim Drake and Conner Kent, caskets for an identity they didn’t seem to have anymore. The boys in the far end of the library, the ones who’d occasionally bring packets of chips, followed with two bottles of whatever thing in the confectionery store was close, were just that. Boys. Who were high school students and friends, and superheroes in the plain light of day. 

They’d never stay for long, as one would get bored eventually. Or tired, or simply got the craving of going somewhere else. Then both would leave, only to come back a few days later. 

This library, a place so physically deteriorated and with more dust than it had books, had become a special place for them. Both Tim and Kon separately. Once, Kon had gone to the place. It was close to midnight. Hey doesn’t remember why, just that he was… angry. Or sad. He had just wanted to feel the peace and… life, the small rise of mood every time he entered the library by the broken window. He had taken a flashlight with him, and as dark as it was, he wasn’t scared. He also hadn’t told Tim that he’d be there. Why would he anyways? Tim was Tim and Kon was Kon. The library was just where they hung out, it wasn’t their sacred place or anything. So you can understand the shock that Kon had felt when he found Tim curled up into a ball, in the same spot they’d always be at, with his head buried into his knees. Tim’s own flashlight was facing upwards, lighting up the room, even dimly. Kon could see the cracks on the ceiling. Then he sat on the opposite corner of the room, rested his head against the wall. He wasn’t sad anymore, nor angry. He was just tired.    
The next morning, they had woken up, each in their perspective corners. They hadn’t talked about it. 

This went on for months, and with every evening spent at the library, the boys would learn something new. Kon, especially, for he would always arrive earlier. He would roam the place, unusually big for how diminutive it looked from the outside. Maybe it was all the vines. Once, he had found an entrance to a children’s room in what felt like a basement, that could or could have not acted as a daycare. It had dusty beanbag chairs and even dustier toys and books. Posters on the walls, the ink on such faint and weak. 

Another time, Kon had been looking through the bookshelf, the same one he’d always write his name on. He had grabbed a book out of boredom. It didn’t look special. The first few pages were blank, then a string of blue writing would walk in. Kon assumed it was a girl’s, but it wasn’t necessarily loopy and swirly, but it looked like a girl’s writing nonetheless. She wrote a few pages, and then she switched pen colors, from blue to black. Kon didn’t know who she was writing to, but it seemed as if she didn’t either. She introduced herself, Veronica Kelly, she had said. She had found the book in a box of free items in a garage sale. She was still new to Gotham, she had moved from Central city due to her mom’s job. She also kept writing ‘you’, as if talking to someone. She didn’t say ‘dear diary’ or anything like that, she was talking to someone for sure, someone that not even Veronica was sure existed. 

A few pages later, Veronica closed her entry, and a new string of writing came in. It was sloppy and done in purple marker, those that looked like the ones Kon had seen in Cissie’s room. The person writing it must have been hurried, excited even. The writer with the purple pen introduced themselves. Chris Morgan, short for Christina. They only wrote a few lines, half a page at most. 

Kon skimmed through the pages, and he had to admit it was quite the telenovela, Chris and Veronica, who Chris had nicknamed ‘Ron’, with their awkward conversations and smudges of ink. Chris tells how they had lived in Gotham her whole life, they even have the scars to prove it. Kon’s own eyes bulged when he read that one of them was even caused by the Batman, in the hurry of escape, Batman had grabbed her arm quite violently, the second time they tried to escape his grasp. Chris had been babysitting the kids of family friends, the oldest one had been eight years old, and the youngest one five. Chris says she doesn’t remember how the fire started, just that it was there, and they couldn’t find the oldest child. The Batman came in, he had grabbed the youngest and Chris, but she was desperate, trying to get free and go find the oldest child. 

_ Batman didn’t know about him. He was only eight,  _ Chris wrote. 

Kon noticed a dry tear on the paper, smudging Chris’s writing of the Batman. He wondered if the tear was Chris’s or Ron’s. 

He felt like a snoop, but that didn’t really matter, did it? Chris and Ron wrote this years ago, for all Kon knew it could be published, anyone could have read it. They had just left it lying around. 

In an empty library.    
In the middle of practical nowhere. 

No biggie. 

The last page of said novel felt like taken out of a movie script. Chris and Ron were making plans, now there seemed to be a schedule between the times they each wrote in the book. They were talking about meeting towards the Gotham carnival, and Ron was telling about how she could probably meet Chris for a minute or two. That same page, Chris ended it with a series of x’s, and Kon wondered if they ever  _ did  _ meet. 

Whichever the case, Kon realized that Chris and Ron’s story had made him want more. Now Kon would depend on the rest of the fictional novels in the library, when he had the time.    
And being, well,  _ Kon,  _ he always found the time. Now there were days in which he’d come in early, an hour, two if he felt like it, and he’d read one or two books, three if he wanted to. He started with small books, cheesy romance novels on the shelves, and read them at super-speed. When he realized that he’d read half a shelf in a day, he realized that he could finish all these books in a week. 

  
He planned on staying much longer than that. 

So he read at a normal speed, page by page. A book a day, maybe less if the book was long. Kon would sometimes want to take them home, to read at night, before patrol. But he soon found out that it wasn’t the same, not  _ really.  _ It didn’t feel the same, at least. To read in the silence of his room and the silence of the library. They were different, as hard to believe as that was. 

There were also times in which Kon simply didn’t feel like reading. That was fine, he decided, he read way too much already. The sappy romance novels had run out already, Kon went towards the non-fiction shelves, with less books than the fictional ones, but still. 

Today is one of those days, in which Kon didn’t want to pick up a book. Tim is late, to top it all, but Kon isn’t bored. The place still has corners that Kon hasn’t bothered to look in. And he won’t today, it’s a calm enough evening for Kon to go play explorers. He’ll just wait for Tim, as he always does. 

Not that he minds. The library has become his favourite place in both Metropolis  _ and  _ Gotham. In fact, he’s found that he would choose the library rather than the headquarters, or the manor. Maybe even Ma’s and Pa’s place. Maybe if they knew about the place, then they’d love it as well. 

They had decorated over time. The windows had waterproof coats placed from the inside, to stop the place from leaking, as the rainy season was approaching. It is raining today, actually. Kon had to use his leather jacket as a raincoat to not get completely soaked. The room they usually hung at, had a few board games and graphic novels on top of a set of mats, those they found and dusted off in the children’s room. There was even a small trashcan they had moved upstairs, so they could stop carrying around their food wrappers and containers. They had a few beanbag chairs and an electronic or two. They had placed a few flashlights on the ceiling, courtesy of Tim and his ideas. Or maybe it was how often Kon complained about the lighting. Now, the room was lit a faint purple, due to the layers of waterproof blankets on the window. 

Kon decides that he will wait for Tim. He’s always late, so what’s one more day? Kon is tipping the window open, he stretches his hand out. He feels droplets of rain in his hand, faint due to the plants that softened each of their falls. He pulls the whole thing off, opens the window fully. He’s now looking outside, at the faint Gotham in the background. The sun just set and Kon can see the lights from the city. He has his elbows on the windowsill and his hands stretched out. It’s raining, but it’s still beautiful. 

Now, Kon has to admit that he’s been to and seen places much better than Gotham. Metropolis for one, Central city, literally any other place has a happier vibe than Gotham, Kon knows this. But this makes Gotham stand out in more than one way. 

Tim is an everyday reminder of this. Before, Gotham seemed like the distant home of the relative you didn’t like. Kon went only when he had to, and every single moment he would long to be anywhere else. 

Then Kon became friends with Tim, and going to Gotham now felt like a road trip, to a friend you hadn’t seen in a while, even though Kon saw Tim nearly every single day. It was that sort of adrenaline and excitement. 

Now Kon sees Gotham differently, but that’s because he sees  _ Tim  _ differently. Maybe it was all the romance novels that Kon had been feeding off of. Because Tim is now suddenly different, Kon couldn’t explain it. He is sure that Tim himself hasn’t changed, and maybe Kon has. Tim tells bad jokes and laughs at dumb things. He has a slightly hooked nose, and he’s left-handed. These are just facts. There are still things that Kon doesn’t know about Tim, but he’s sure they’re nice, flawless. After all, Tim is all that. The boy that joined him in the library was… beautiful, to say the least. 

To say that Tim Drake is perfect would stretch things a little. He is clumsy and awkward sometimes. His tongue gets caught on words like ‘assumption’ and ‘anomalies’, or ‘sincere’ and ‘abnormal’. And as confident and nice as he is, there are buttons you can push on him, things you can say, that would affect him in some ways, make him do things he’d usually know better not to. Kon had once made a joke on something, he had asked Tim if he wanted to stay a while longer, and then called him a coward when he said he’d have to leave soon. That night, Tim Drake had stayed. There with Kon, in the vast, near-to empty library, in which time seemed to freeze. 

The following night, though, Red Robin had come to his window, but he had a bruise on his face. 

Tim Drake is kind, Kon has played this in his head multiple times. He is forgiving and compassionate. His smile can reassure you of everything that goes wrong, but not in the sense of it being ‘okay’, but in the sense of just… holding you. While the world around you is left to rot. 

Tim’s eyes are a pale blue, an icy blue, daresay. They’re like Tim, soft and bubbly, shy and intelligent. But Kon is also certain of the fire that burns within them. He can even picture this, the irises of Tim’s eyes, a colour Kon has tried over and over to describe, yet has never found words for, burning, blazing with everything that Tim is and is not. Tim Drake is flimsy, and as strong as he is, he is shattered. If Kon could describe Tim in a jot line or two, he’d say that Tim reminds him of ballet. Kon had to admit, though, he had never watched ballet, but he knew a thing or two from helping Cass rehearse. Once he had even stayed a whole afternoon with Cass, learning a few basics. Tim often reminds him of ballerina shoes, as unkind as that sounds. So frail and beautiful, doing the impossible, the practiced, the  _ perfect.  _ Pink ballet shoes, with the ribbons around the ankle and calf, the shank and outer sole perfectly in place, the box of such perfect movements. It is flawless. The only word Kon can find is flawless. 

But then the ballerina will take off her shoes. Those in which she dances so  _ beautifully.  _ And she will show you her feet, in which she has bruises and scars, worn-out bandaids and blisters and calluses. Black and broken nails, fractures. She will tell you of the tears she has shed, but she will wipe then quickly, for she doesn’t regret a thing. She dances and she looks beautiful, she  _ feels  _ beautiful. But that isn’t why she’s dancing. She dances because she likes to, because it makes her happy. She doesn’t dance for the entertainment of others, she dances for herself.

So yes, in most ways, Tim Drake reminds Kon of a ballerina. Because Tim saves lives, every night as Robin and the Red Robin, and he’s known by the press, but he doesn’t care about that. He doesn’t care about admirers nor interviews, much less any flattery from the press and local celebrities. Hell, Tim is even a  _ double  _ celebrity. Yet he still cares more about others, those that wouldn’t have bothered to look at him twice before he became the hero, before he went under the wing of the Batman. 

Now, Kon’s sure he’s said this before, but when he sees Tim, the only word he can think of is  _ beautiful.  _ And he has to admit, there are many kinds of beauty. 

There’s the beauty you see in landscapes, sunsets, sunrises, mountains, rivers, beaches. It’s there, it’s breathtaking. And you can’t get enough of it, not even if you wanted to. 

There’s the beauty in dance, as he has mentioned. The gracefulness, the… paradise you see, every time you see someone dancing. You just see them happy, you see them having  _ fun _ , doing all these impossible movements, as if it’s so  _ easy,  _ like it comes natural to them. But you know better. 

There’s the beauty in the happiness of others, you just see it, clear as day. When someone is talking about something they love, when their face lights up, and it feels like an honour to be there, to have witnessed such a moment of excitement. 

And Tim Drake, Kon doesn’t know how to explain it, but Tim fits into all these categories, the more there are as well. 

Kon has to admit, he feels his face get hot, all these thoughts of the boy that has helped him build a mini-Batcave in the library. It is embarrassing, to think that he even has the…  _ passion _ , per se, to think about Tim like that. 

The rain is getting stronger, colder. Kon can still see Gotham from far, and Kon can see the lights brighter than they are in the daylight. He knows that some citizens of Gotham sleep with a light on, for who knows what might hurt them while they sleep. 

Kon closes the window, he covers it, so the rain doesn’t crawl in. The small room in the library is now lit dimly with the lighting system that the boys had set up. Kon sighs. Maybe Tim isn’t going to show today. He’s done that once before, and it was quite the audacity, since Tim himself had suggested they meet that day. Then an apology text would come by and a vow to buy the snacks for the next month. That left Kon, his books, and the special spot of the library. 

Kon is now walking down the stairs, and he grabs his leather jacket. Then he drops it, for Tim might think that Kon isn’t there, if there’s nothing to see. Then he moves to the last aisle in the library, with the shelf that has less than ten books, and Kon has counted. He moved all the ones he had wanted to read to the front shelves, so they were easier to grab. Now the last shelves had a couple of books only, and the rest of things that Kon had moved over. A backpack or two, with two sleeping bags amongst other things. This was for when Kon would stay overnight. Ma and Pa didn’t mind, although Kon had never mentioned that he was staying at the library, much less in the southside of  _ Gotham.  _

Kon gathers his things and sets them up on the room upstairs. He’s in the corner, he has a book in his hand. It’s still raining outside, heavier this time. It’s soothing, Kon realizes, the rain from outside and the faint lights of Gotham, the whole feel that the library has, it feels so… homey, really. The vines creeping in and the windows that are broken, the books and the shelves, even the dust, it just complements an atmosphere that Kon had never been in before. 

Kon is rereading a book he couldn’t get enough of. The first book he had read that wasn’t exactly the diary of the two girls with the black and purple pens. It was about two strangers that lie to everyone about meeting. They say that they’ve been friends since they were practically toddlers, and everybody seems to believe them. This reminds Kon of his own relationship with Tim, how it had started from a faint lie, only to creep up into friendship. 

Kon hears something crash from downstairs. A smile creeps onto his face. He’s heard that sounds, several times over, when Tim isn’t looking and hits himself with the window frame. Kon quickly shoves his book under the sleeping bag he’s laying on top of, he doesn’t need anybody to know he’s a corny-ass hopeless romantic. He runs downstairs excitedly. 

And there he is, taking off his cape and cowl, throwing them on top of Kon’s jacket. His hair is wet and there are puddles of water by his feet. He has a bag or two in his hands. He is smiling, and  _ god _ , Kon loves that smile. 

“Am I really that late?” Tim asks. Then he raises the bags he held. “I brought us apology take-out.”

Kon sits on the counter. “Well, you were an hour late,” He points out. He takes one of the bags that Tim was holding, he opens it. There are just two happy meals, from the fast-food place Kon has been to just a few times, the rest all take-out on rooftops.  _ Batburger _ . Kon admits it’s a dumb name, although he admires it. A whole restaurant dedicated to the Bat-family of Gotham. “Batburger? Really? Tim, it’s around eleven at night.” 

Tim shrugs. “So?” He takes the box from the bag. “It’s never too late for dinner.”

Kon’s eyes widen. “Dinner?” At eleven in the night? It’s some sort of a miracle that Tim doesn’t have gastritis. 

“Actually,” Tim sets his burger aside, but he pops a small fry in his mouth. Kon still hasn’t touched his. “I wanted to talk to you about something.” 

Kon sucks in a breath. He grabs one of his fries to stall himself from talking. He just nods slowly, he knows  _ exactly  _ what Tim is going to say. He doesn’t, really, but what could he say? Kon’s imagination has gone insane with all the books he’s read. Tim could say two things, really. Two of which Kon has thought about ridiculously often. One of them, the one he wants to hear, maybe, was… a reciprocation, to say it like that. Everything he feels towards Tim, but he wants to be on the receiving side of the situation this time. The reassurance that Kon isn’t crazy, that as friends as they both are, there is something  _ more.  _ He’s not imagining it. 

Then the second thing goes, and it’s something Cissie has told him before. The ‘friendzone’, she’s called it. Kon definitely doesn’t want to hear  _ that _ . He feels like a coward, he’s done so to quite the handful of other girls. He could probably take a ‘friendzoning’ from a girl. But Kon’s never been in love with a boy before.

“Are you listening to me, Kon?” 

Tim’s voice is so  _ loud, _ and Kon realizes he’s shut his eyes. The things that cowardice makes you do. He doesn’t open them until he realizes that Tim wasn’t speaking louder, he had just come  _ closer.  _

Kon opens his eyes, he sees Tim sitting now on the floor, with the jackets and capes as a pillow. His hands are holding his head, laid back, his hair is still dripping, and his smile is sincere. 

“Are you listening to me, Kon?” Tim repeats himself, and it fills Kon with rarely familiar shame to shake his head slowly. 

Tim sighs, but not in any way that declared he is tired. Not tired of Kon, at least. “I was just saying, Kon. How…. How come we don’t hang out anywhere else?” 

Kon has thought about this, the answer to this question. He realized, a few weeks ago, that he didn’t know the answer. Why they never hung out in the park, or the headquarters, or the Manor, Kon didn’t know. He’d like to, of course, but the library is so….  _ theirs _ . 

The boy in front of Kon continued. “I just… wish things were different, although I don’t know what I’d like to change. ” Tim is just stalling to the point. “I wish we could… go outside. During the day, we’re not getting our asses kicked.

“I wish we could go out for ice cream sometimes, or to  _ batburger _ , instead of just getting take-out. I could teach you how to skateboard sometime.” 

Kon is confused. For all he knows, it was Tim that wanted to be somewhat secret and play adventurer in the library. After all, Kon still had less than half an idea as to why Tim invited him in the first place. Not that he was complaining, the library had become such a special place in his day-to-day life, and being there with Tim… he wouldn’t change it for the world. 

“I wish we could go to the movies, we could watch the romance ones that you say you hate,” Tim is smiling distantly, he looks as if he is imagining a place he could call heaven. “I just… I just wish we were more.” 

Kon’s breath catches. He’s hearing properly, he's sure of it. He isn’t delirious, he  _ can’t  _ be. 

Tim stands up, he stretches his hand out to Kon. “I’m not sure I should say this, Kon,” He says. “It might ruin whatever we have going on.” 

Ruin? Kon is sure that Tim can’t ruin anything, not anything concerning Kon, at least. Maybe it could change things, but that’s fine. Kon is used to change now, ever since the day that Tim asked to meet him in the library, since then all the cliches Kon has read in books have been crossing off. The thing Tim had just said about the romance movies, about how Kon had hated them, he had said so months ago. Now it is different, yet just by a little bit. Kon still thinks that Romance movies are a bit too much sometimes. But Tim has remembered. He has  _ noticed.  _

And what doesn’t Kon notice about Tim? Aside from all things physical, the way his voice pitches up when he gets excited, how much of a blusher he is. How Tim is left-handed, how he always has a pen with him, a blue one. How he usually leans onto the bookshelves with his left arm, how at first Tim seemed to be so wary of the library, he’d check the window they entered through every five minutes or so, wary that someone would come find him. He seemed to relax afterwards, spending the whole time upstairs, with Kon, safe. 

How Tim has a knack for photography, and how he is allergic to dust. But he’d stay, and never really complain about anything. How he loves reading children’s books, and it’s always him that runs to open the windows, the days that it rains. How he doesn’t have a favourite food, how he loved every food he was placed in front of. This includes the cheapest things from the confectionery’s store. And although he has that vast taste in things, he hates pickles. He always picks them out. 

“Or maybe you should say it,” Tim whispers. “You’ve always been the one that’s good with words.”

A smile creeps up on Kon’s face.  _ You’ve always been the one that’s good with words.  _ He takes Tim’s hand.

“Do I have you, Tim?” He whispers back. “Do I have you as you have me?” 

_.  _

And in the second it takes Kon to catch his breath, Tim’s lips are on his. Gentle at first, as if deciding if it’s a good idea, leaving Kon a chance to back up. To pull away from him. As if there’s any chance in hell that Kon would do  _ that.  _ He deepens the kiss, he smiles against Tim’s lips. And now Tim’s smiling as well, and his loose hand is tangled in Kon’s hair, and as Kon’s right hand cups Tim’s face gently, Tim pulls him closer. And Kon feels like blushing now, because he realizes that Tim Drake was never going to actually give back his feelings. Tim wasn’t a person of talk, of much poetry. Tim was a person of action, but feeling nonetheless. 

It’s not like Kon could say much either, the line he just pulled on Tim, he had read it in a book. 

Tim pulls away, he still has a hand in Kon’s hair. Gentle, his fingers are barely intertwined in the strands of such. He’s smiling but he isn’t looking at Kon. In fact, he isn’t even meeting his eyes. “I… I need to ask you a question,” He begins. Tim’s hand loosens to Kon's neck. 

Another day, perhaps, Kon would have had the confidence to hush Tim and kiss him again. Not today, though, and Kon doesn’t know why. It’d be so easy, to simply kiss Tim to shut him up. Goddess alive knows he wants to. 

Instead, he answers softly, tilts Tim’s chin up with his index finger. “Yeah?”

“Are we best friends?” 

Kon tried his best to not let his face fall. Tim sure has his ways of leaving a boy in the friendzone. “I… think so?” Each word, Kon thinks over and over. There are just so many things he could say that would end up with either one of them dead, or stomping out the door.    
Or maybe in their little room, with the graphic novels and sleeping bags, the lighting system and the bag of chips right beside. 

“I mean, are we  _ friends _ , Tim?” Despite every single crap-loaded wagon of Kon’s train of thoughts, words pour out of him, and he doesn’t have a single say in it. “I just… I like you, you know.” 

Tim’s hand loosens on Kon’s. He’s going to leave, what’s more, to ask about that? Instead, Tim looks up at him, his smile widens. “Really?” 

The only time Kon has felt  _ this  _ confusion was in French class, learning the conjugations of irregular verbs. Or something like that. But he’ll play along, since he never really understood many words Tim would say. “Ask me again,” Kon whispers. “Ask me if we’re friends.”

Tim has his eyes closed, he’s standing on the tip of his toes. “Are we friends, Kon?” He asks in that same tone, the one Kon just used on him. 

Kon lets go of Tim’s hand, brings it up to Tim’s face, cupping it. “No,” He whispers, smiles. “We’re  _ so  _ much more than that.”

Tim is the one to lean in and kiss him, both hands helping himself up. “Good. I didn’t invite you to the library for nothing, Kon.”

**Author's Note:**

> No beta, and the editing was just a lazy skim by Grammarly because my friends nagged me to hurry with this.   
> Feel free to check me out on Tumblr, where all's hell and it ends like hell <3 (@woahjaybird)


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